The Store Catalogue

Our great big catalogue has come,

     We get it once a year;

It is a monstrous, bulky book

     But full of things to cheer.

It comes from some big city where

     They have a sight to sell;

And pictures out a sight of stuff –

More things than I could tell.

Gay pictures of the women’s gowns,

     And rugs and parlor things;

And trunks and bags and boats and guns

     And fobs and finger rings.

In fact there isn’t any thing

     That we could hope to buy

But what the monstrous catalogue

     Can place before the eye.

From horse-shoe nails to pleasure yachts,

     Pianos down to tacks,

From auto trucks and carriages

     To wooden towel wracks.

Oh there is naught the heart can wish

     From stoves to wooly dogs,

That is not finely pictured in

     Our monstrous catalogues.

And nights when company come in

     To spend an hour or two,

We do not have to entertain

     The way we used to do.

The fam’ly album was the thing

     With which they hourly sat;

But now we bring the catalogue,

     And let them look at that.

April 19, 1913

Send Tues,

Apr. 22, ‘13